The Tell Tale Heart
by Objective Mistress
Summary: Often the heart can have a mind of its own; that tattoo of it can be relentless in spurring the brain faster to an inevitable answer. One-Shot AU


_**Okay, I'm back. Update to "Miles to Go Before I Sleep" is in the pipeline. Got to play around a bit with first-person here too! I hope you enjoy! Obviously, this is AU.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. That is all. Nor do I own Edgar Allen Poe, but I thank him for a spark of inspiration. I mean no infringement.**

True! It felt as if I had never been so dreadfully nervous in my life. Not even my first lecture or first day on the job had produced such an odd gripping feeling in my chest. But mad I was not, well, not in the classical sense of anger as the brain's response to perceived threat, or in the sense that referred to one suffering from mental illness. No, this was another feeling, one more again to the scary yet exhilarating feeling of the heart beating frantically in anticipation.

It is impossible to know how I first discovered the emotion, but after this (and much to my dismay), it would not exit my thoughts day or night, work or leisure. I loved Seeley Booth. Seldom had he wronged me, and his actions in these cases were duly justifiable by his antiquated sense of chivalry. Never had he insulted me with intention to hurt me. I didn't desire him for any resources of material wealth he might possess. But I saw what he felt in his eyes! Whenever they fell upon me I experienced an odd warming sensation; a feeling of safety and security in addition. So _very _gradually, I made up my time that I needed to spend my life with this man, and thus enjoy the gaze of those chestnut eyes forever.

Now this is the point where you assume that I am in love. But if you could have seen me, you would have marveled in one so deeply enamored acted and moved forward so wisely, cautiously, and logically. I went to work as usual; the week that proceeded my act was no different than your average week at the Jeffersonian. But that week was fraught with internal conflict; whether I should seize the opportunity to tell him how I really felt, or to retreat back to more known ground.

However, on the eight night, as I reclined in bed I felt that odd gripping feeling again and a sudden need to take action. Tonight had to be the night I told him.

So I slipped out of bed, scarcely stopping to pull on clothing socially acceptable and appropriate to be seen in public in. The path to Booth's apartment was well worn, but only in the metaphorical sense as the District of Columbia Department of Transportation tried earnestly to keep roads from wear and tear.

Hoping this wouldn't be a breach of partner etiquette, I used his key to unlock his door, cautiously pushing it in to avoid alert. I couldn't help but feel a bit of triumph; here I was, opening his door in the dead of night to relay a message I held so closely for so long. Now, one might assume that I pulled back. But this time, I didn't. The apartment was pitch black. I heard him turn in his bed.

I was about to step through the living room when my hand slipped on the flashlight I pulled out of my bag.

"Who's there?" He sat up in bed.

I stood still and didn't make a noise. Of course, I am now not sure if this was the most rational action considering the fact that he kept a loaded pistol by his bedside and his paranoia for intrusion could cause a potentially unwanted situation. In this meantime, I didn't hear him sit back down, nor did I hear him motion to get up.

I knew he was awake, ever since he had turned under the sheets as I entered.

"It's nothing, and probably nobody," he muttered to himself.

When I had waited long enough, mustering my courage to move forward, I finally spoke out. "Booth, it's me."

"Bones?" I heard the solid clunk of the butt of his gun bumping the nightstand as he stood up. From this I can conclude he still held on to the firearm, still in a state of minor alarm.

"Bones?" He said again, but this time a bit frantically. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I am." I affirmed aloud.

He stepped through the door, eyeing all around before casting a sniper's gaze upon me. His eyes were open wide, and I grew dismayed as I gazed into them.

Now, a dull sound came to my ears, muted as if I was hard of hearing. I knew the sound and had become familiar with it. It was the beating of my heart. The awareness of this seemed to make me even more apprehensive for the confession to come.

Yet, I refrained from moving, standing absolutely still. The beating in my chest grew louder and pounded in my ears. So here I was, in the dead of night in his apartment. At last, the hour for me had come!

"Are you sure you are okay?" he dropped the pistol to his side and put it down on the table.

Now, if one still were to appraise me as in love, well, I'll concede to the point that one might be convinced by my display that came next.

"Because it's around like what? 2 AM? And you're here in your PJs and stuff..."

"I'd be concerned also in your position," I shrugged. I nodded making a mental note of the of the awkward nature of this conversation.

Booth took a few steps closer. "Let's skip that and get to the part about you being in my apartment at 2 AM."

"Well, I was motivated primarily by my inclination to speak with you."

"Which couldn't wait until like eight or nine?" he rubbed his eyes.

"I needed it to be prompt so I wouldn't lose my courage."

"For what?" he shot me an odd sideways glance.

"Well..."

When our conversation came to an end, it was four o'clock and still just as dark as it had been when we began. I drove back home, but the night had awakened me fully, so I elected just to change into clothing appropriate to the Jeffersonian and drove in.

A few days had passed since then, but nothing had changed dramatically to that of an onlooker. We had decided that we preferred it this way in the early stages. Part of me dreaded the discovery of this new found thing; the stir it would cause would be considerable.

The next morning at the Jeffersonian began with a knock on my office door by Angela. I waived her in with a light heart.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?" she squinted at me as if trying to discern a tell.

"Of course."

"It's not about the case."

I smiled, after all, I had nothing to fear.

"Booth and you have been acting, differently," she slid into one of the chairs.

"I don't know what that means."

"You've been spending a lot of time with him."

"Haven't I made a habit of that in recent years?"

"What about the touching?"

"What touching?"

She quirked an eyebrow at me. "You've been closer to him then usual."

"Physically? We often are required to work in close quarters."

"Okay..." she leaned back in her chair dismayed.

Angela was satisfied. My manner had convinced her. I could not feel more at ease. We began to chat as usual; delved over case notes, cause of death, and new methods for technology integration. I felt a bit faint however, and it seemed as if the conversation had gone on long enough. My ears began to ring and accompanied a feeling of nausea.

I am sure at this point that I appeared very pale, as Angela leaned closer to my desk, a look of concern on her face. My heart was beating again, and so hard that one might use the phrase "beating out of my chest." But anyone decently competent in any medical field knows that this is a physical impossibility, so I refrained.

Her questions again returned to Booth. What could I do? My rate of speech increased. I argued and eventually moved from my desk chair to pace the room. What could I do to avoid this line of questioning? Angela smiled all through this in enjoyment. How could she not know? This mockery was just for her enjoyment! She suspected. No, she knew!

I couldn't bear it any longer. I had to scream it out for I felt as if I would die.

"...and so I guess then that-"

"Angela, stop."

"Something wrong sweetie?"

"No," I looked at her. "Something is right."

She joined me in standing up.

"I LOVE SEELEY BOOTH!"

_**Perhaps a bit OOC but fun to write nevertheless. Oh, and I caved and finally watched Season 7.**_

_**Leave a review would you?**_


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